Roman Candles
by Verboten Byacolate
Summary: USUK. If tact was America's first priority, he probably wouldn't have brought England on a date to Independence Hall.


"This is perhaps the worst idea you've ever had."

And it was. This was worse than any hair-brained schemes America had proposed at any world meeting- and there had been even than that one time he'd invited Scotland and Ireland over for dinner so they could "work out their problems."

America pouted, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You're just bitter," he said petulantly. England gave an incredulous laugh.

"Bitter?" He threw his arms out, gesturing wildly at the room around them. "Really? You think I'm bitter? Well, I think you're off your sodding rocker!"

Independence Hall was lit warmly with long candles and dim moonlight drifting in on both sides of the room through the windows. The desks, stripped of their green cloths and waxed far more often than they had been in the 17th century, shone with that reflected yellow light. But not as much as England's eyes at that moment. Not with that selective anger meant only for America that really shouldn't have been so attractive.

The taller blond could only laugh and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts and looked around the room with a nostalgic smile. "This place embodies one of my greatest memories." He slowly began to amble around the room, taking in details that must have already been etched into his dusty mind and somehow, he missed the small flicker of hurt on England's face.

"Right," he mumbled, withdrawing in on himself. "Because severing our bond was the greatest thing that ever happened to you." The muffled crackles and booms of fireworks and laughter in the streets only served to reinforce his statement, handing a thin curtain of gloom over his side of the room. After a moment America turned on his heel with a wide grin.

"You really need to get over that, old man."

"I am!" England immediately spluttered back. It was suck an obvious lie that even he winced. But there was no turning back now... "I'm completely-"

"The Declaration was signed right here," America interrupted, running his fingers over a good-sized desk at the front of the room. "This is where old Tom sat. And... geez, John was right there, and Lyman was..." The nation continued strongly as he remembered, pointing out the various seating locations of all his beloved Declaration authors, his mood so bright that even England could not hold onto his frustration for long. "... and Carter from Virginia!" he finished proudly, spinning around. He was practically glowing and try as he might, England just couldn't stay mad. The older of the two cleared his throat and glanced to the side.

"So did you sit, or did you just bounce around bothering everyone like an idiot?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it exactly like that, but..." He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know me pretty well, huh?"

Ah. Well, there went the rest of England's barely-clung-to anger. Heaving a great sigh, he pretended not to smile.

"You've always been that way, dear boy," he said very matter-of-factly and America began to inch toward him step by step.

"And I always plan to be this way," he answered, rounding a desk. England sighed again.

"If that's the case, any chance of redeeming yourself in intellect just jumped out the window."

"So that stands to reason," America ignored him, now standing only a few feet away with those earnest eyes the color of the clearest sky, "that since you've got me so figured out, it should be fairly easy for you to understand this." He extended his arms like a child might, and really, when had England ever been able to resist that? Blushing at how easily he was ensnared in America's web, he allowed his feet to step forward, letting himself be pulled in by those arms into the firm chest of the land of the free. He glanced up and oh, yes, he was still being searched with those eyes. "My people wrote something so great and powerful because they wanted to be governed by themselves, not your kings that they'd sailed the ocean and embarked on a new land just to escape. Because they didn't need your royalty." That same dreadful rolling feeling lurched in England's stomach, that pit of dormant betrayal and loneliness, and he almost had to look away from that honest blue.

"Don't blame it on your people," he said quietly, the deep red of America's t-shirt clenched in his fist. "Not when you were the one with the rifle on the battlefield, don't-"

"I love you."

England swallowed his words. America wasn't laughing or smiling, and he wasn't flustered or pleading. He was just open, just honest. There was a warm palm on England's cheek and he couldn't stop the shiver from trembling up his spine. America's gaze softened. "I've always loved you. But how could you ever see me as anything but a baby brother if I didn't do something that showed you just how much I'd grown? Granted, I probably could've handled it with a bit more finesse if I thought you wouldn't freak out, which you totally did, but!" He stopped what most definitely would have been an argument on England's part with a finger to his lips. "But that's not the point. You think it'd been all sunshine and roses for me after you left, but it hadn't. You think I celebrate this date with my people because it means separation from you, but it doesn't. Geez, England, I kinda hoped you'd have figured that out yourself a long time ago. Especially after we finally got back together during the World Wars."

The former empire gazed up at America, unresponsive for a moment that stretched far enough to make America begin to squirm nervously. "Um, Eng-"

"So you brought me," he said quietly, "to the birthplace of your freedom because you wanted to tell me that there was a difference in motives between you and your states?"

America blinked. "Hmm? Well, kinda, I guess." He grinned. "Plus, I reserved it privately for the whole evening so I could do this without you being all weird about PDA." Sliding his fingers into England's hair and tugging his head back just enough to catch his lips and, oh, oh wow, he really hoped that the fireworks he was hearing were the ones outside and not some corny sound effect in his mind. Of course it would be just like America to have such a Hollywood-esque scene in one of England's least favorite places.

Well. Former least favorite, anyway.


End file.
